A Day in the Life: Tonbo
by Beff
Summary: The first in my series of snapshots, a day in the life of a T&I operative. The title pretty much explains it, huh? Tonbo first, cuz I said. Now newly updated with Chapter 2. Ibiki's grumpy without coffee. NOT DEAD.
1. Even Ninja Brush Their Teeth

Author's Note: Reposted 2/21/09 with a few minor corrections. I've been so caught up in so many things, and I know this is trite. I moved, I'm in school full-time, I work full-time... I haven't had the time to breath, let alone type anything. I just finished unpacking, Optimum just turned on my internet, and now I have stories to catch up.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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A Day in the Life -1- : Tobitake Tonbo

Chapter 1: Even ninja

Working for T&I wasn't so bad, Tobitake Tonbo mused to himself as he zippered up his standard-issue flak jacket and spit out his mouth full of toothpaste foam. That was, of course, assuming you could get past what the 'T' and the 'I' stood for. As much as the civilians (and even some of his younger fellow shinobi) pretended that being a ninja was all fun and games, T&I and her parent division of Intel were necessary parts of their world. A necessary evil, perhaps, but necessary none the less. For every genin D-rank mission of weeded a garden or 'rescuing' a cat up a tree, there was at least one B-rank for T&I. His own early memories of his early work in the division were vague at best for good reason, he supposed. It was an excellent defense mechanism to keep oneself sane. The one clear memory he did have was from his very first interrogation sit-in. The image of the Iwa-nin had stayed (and haunted) him for months.

Heading back to into his bedroom, he pulled his rolls of wrapping bandages from his nightstand's top drawer and sat on the edge of his bed. Unraveling the end of the first roll, he methodically began wrapping his left leg, then his right. The third roll of bandages were wrapped around his eyes and upper face.

In a way, T&I and Intel, and later ANBU, had saved him, as ironic as it might seem. Fifteen years back, he had been a freshly promoted chuunin at all of twelve years old. Konoha's war with Iwa was in full swing, and any shinobi capable of holding a kunai was on the front lines. Chuunin as young as eleven were common on both sides of the front. Chuunin exams be damned, field promotions were the order of the day to shore up ranks. Kyuubi's attack was still three years away.

All it had taken was a simple sentry mission gone wrong, and he was bereft of his team, his sensei… and his sight. One of the ambushing Iwa nin had been just a hair too proficient with lightening jutsu, and honestly Tonbo knew he was lucky to have escaped with his life. His memories of what had happened immediately thereafter were thankfully sporadic at best. His team's backup had arrived late after facing down their own ambush, and had dragged the remains of his team back to Konoha. The jounin of that team had told him years later while deep in his cups that the team had thought it was a recovery mission, that they were bringing four bodies home. It was only after a few miles that anyone had realized Tonbo was still bleeding. Corpses didn't bleed. No one had believed, just by looking at the damage the jutsu had done, that he could have still been alive.

Days later, he woke up alone in the hospital. Not being sure why everything was dark, and reasonably sure he wasn't dreaming, he made the mistake of putting his hands up to his face. There had been no bandages; the deep ridges of scar tissue beneath his trembling fingers had told the story. Even now they disturbed him, fifteen years later. He wrapped his face daily to save himself the pain, and to make those around him more comfortable. In a way, he envied Namiashi Raidou for his courage; he wasn't ashamed of his own scarring.

The doctors had rushed to his bedside after hearing his panicked screams. _You're lucky_, they had told him. _Lucky to be alive. The jutsu had mostly cauterized the damage it had done, keeping you from bleeding to death. You'll be out of the war, but we're sure they'll find something useful for you to do. You know your team all died, right?_ He hadn't up to that point, but he had nodded dutifully, in shock. _You're lucky - you could have followed them_. Not very heartening for a twelve year old, newly blinded and totally alone. He wished, after they had left, that he had as he sobbed quietly into his pillow.

Team-less, sensei-less, he had sat alone in the hospital for a few days, depression sinking in. All his year mates were away on missions or at the front, along with the few relatives he had left. He had tried stumbling around his room, but after stubbing his toes for the umpteenth time, he had given up and resigned himself to his darkness. One of the ward nurses, apparently familiar with ninja and their ways after traumatic injury, had picked up on his air of despondency and (who he assumed to be) a very burly orderly had confiscated his kunai pouches.

Five days after his awakening though…

Tonbo smiled a private smile as he finished with his wraps and pulled his hitae-ate from the top of his dresser. Running a blunted nail over the stylized leaf emblem, he closed his swathed eyes as the memory played in his mind.

A nurse had knocked and announced that he had a pair of visitors - did he want to see them? Having had no visitors since his admittance, he had readily agreed, wondering who it could be.

They were voices he'd have recognized anywhere. The Sandaime Hokage and (who many assumed to be his successor) Namikaze Minato had immediately begun speaking easily to the young man, much to his amazement, of completely mundane things ranging from the weather, to how hot the blond nurse was and what they'd like to do with her (that wasn't really a surprise since they both hung out with Jiraiya-sama), to how completely disgusting the food served in the cafeteria was.

The Sandaime had paused after a particularly raunchy joke (told, of course, by Minato), and Tonbo had shrunk back, _knowing_ a recrimination was forthcoming. How could it not be? A jounin and two chuunin dead… all that was left of an active team was a blind chuunin. He himself knew it was a lousy trade. How could they not believe the same?

But no such recrimination came then, nor did it ever. Instead, the Hokage had explained that there was a chakra exercise that Minato could teach him that would enable him to 'see'. Odds were that he would never be on the active list for any more field missions - to focus the chakra needed for the technique would likely take most of his concentration. However, if he's like a position in Intel, he would be gladly welcomed.

Eagerly he had accepted, and within a week he had mastered Minato-sensei's technique… and adopted a surrogate sensei. The older man had grinned when he declared Tonbo proficient, and the chuunin had nearly sobbed with happiness as he "saw" his sensei's wide smile. Granted it wasn't easy at first. Not by a long shot. Learning what different chakra swirls meant took sometime and left him with not a few migraines, but it was far more than he had ever hoped for when he had woken up to a dark world. Minato-sensei had understood, and though he had a team of his own, had come to check on the boy whenever he could.

Pulling the knot on his bandana tight, Tonbo smiled again as he stood. Years later, after Kyuubi's sealing and Minato-sensei's death, the Sandaime Hokage had told him that Minato would have been inordinately proud of his achievements. He had gotten so proficient at the chakra focusing technique that he had been cleared for fieldwork by age 17, and was actually often called on when there was a need for analytical skills, should a Hyuuga or Uchiha not be available. In fact, the Sandaime Hokage had commissioned him in ANBU specifically for that reason.

Mostly though, he worked for Intel in the T&I division, his way of continuing to thank the Hokages for their gift. When Morino Ibiki had taken over as director of T&I, Tonbo had been offered a position as his second in charge of analysis and field work. It had been a huge honor, and he had pulled a Hatake Kakashi that day, spending the entire morning at the Memorial Stone telling his former team and Minato-sensei everything that had happened.

Checking his watch, the chuunin made for the front door. Any more dawdling, and he'd run the risk of being late. Pulling the door closed behind him, he pivoted while pulling out his pack of cigarettes in a smooth, flowing motion. Tapping one out of the pack, he lit it up, put it to his lips, and pulled deeply, relishing the warm spring air on his face. Rolling his cigarette with his tongue to the corner of his mouth, he pulled again, exhaling through his nose. Lovely things the medics created for duty ninja, they left no noxious after-smell on the ninja or their clothing, but still offered the same mellowing factor as nicotine. Amazing what modern medicine could do. With a final pull, he stepped off his stoop and into the morning flow of foot traffic.


	2. It’s Never a Normal Day at Work

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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A Day in the Life -1- : Tobitake Tonbo

Chapter 2: It's Never a Normal Day at Work

_Habits._ Tonbo mused as he entered the Intel building, _so much for sensei always saying ninja should avoid falling into them_. He sighed as he went down his normal corridor to his normal staircase and made his way down to his normal floor. It was odd to think that while Intel and her 'light' divisions – Cyphers, Forgery, Cryptology and Forensics, among others, took up all the upper levels in the nondescript building, the 'dark' division of T&I was situated well underground. Just as well really. It was a large division, and needed all the extra space that the underground provided.

Two flights down, he stepped out of the stairwell and nearly ran smack dab into Morino Ibiki. The older man looked evilly cranky, and Tonbo checked his internal clock. Ibiki must be on his way for coffee. While never precisely pleasant to most during his normal working hours, Ibiki because more tolerable as you poured coffee into him.

Wordlessly, Tonbo followed the jounin to the coffeemaker and silently accepted the proffered cup. Inhaling deeply, he savored the nutty fragrance, then took a sip. _Hmmm…_ he thought idly as the sip scalded its way down his throat. _Ibiki must be on a hazelnut kick again_.

"What's today's agenda?" he asked after another sip.

Ibiki didn't answer immediately, instead took a sip of his own coffee. Stepping away from the breakroom's stained and semi-broken counter (it was a ninja's breakroom, after all), he motioned Tonbo to follow. Wordlessly he did so after quickly draining the last of his coffee.

Back to the staircase they went, down another two flights of stairs. Ibiki pulled the heavy door open, releasing the sealing jutsu on it with a gentle touch of his chakra. On this floor the walls were thicker, both soundproofed by conventional means and by jutsu. The long corridor was silent save the the humming of the overhead fluorescent light, which buzzed abnormally loud in the silence. Lined by heavy doors with small, shatter-proof glass windows, this was where Konoha housed her recaptured missing nin, her traitors, and those from elsewhere who tried to do her harm. Like the door at the stairwell, these doors were keyed to very specific chakra signatures, effectively making the entire floor a self-contained prison, virtually escape-proof.

Still silent, Ibiki strode forward into the hall, bypassing several of the cells. The one he did stop in front of was identical to all the other occupied rooms, decipherable from the unoccupied rooms only by the presence of a startling mundane file folder stuck in the pocked on the front of the door.

Ibiki peered through the tiny window, the scrunching motion of his eyes squinting causing his scars to look and move like snake scales. Without looking away, he pulled the file and handed it to his silent companion.

Tonbo knew Ibiki well enough to know he was being baited. Mentally sighing, he decided he would undoubtedly regret this entire conversation sooner rather than later.

"Where's he from?"

Not, 'What did he do?' Not, 'What's his name?' Not, 'Did he break yet?'

Name was irrelevant, as well as if he broke. They _all_ broke eventually. That's what T&I _did_, after all. Asking where he was from answered what his motives could have been succinctly enough.

"He was from Kuso, before he went missing. Seems he stole a rather important scroll from one of their local daimyos, a relatively powerful one. Something about an accounting of his family's line. He ran into one of our regular patrols a week ago and killed a genin before their jounin realized anything was wrong."

Tonbo's stomach did a slow flop, and he suddenly found himself glad he had stuck to only coffee so fat. Though he himself had grown up in wartime and had seen all the horrors of the battlefield, he hated to see Konoha's children die needlessly.

"Their jounin, one of the Aburame clan, tagged him with a beetle before getting his team clear. ANBU ID'd him in the blackbook with their description, and sent out one of their own Aburames to track the little bastard and bring him down. They did so successfully, and recovered the scroll I mentioned."

At times, Tonbo wished he didn't hide his face. The effect a raised eyebrow could have was so useful.

Ibiki knew his friend well enough to read his body language by this point, though. The crossed arms and the sideways tilt of his head meant he had the chuunin's full attention.

"You know how badly Oto and her attack hurt us." It wasn't a question. Even the pregenin knew how many ninja had been lost in the attack. _Twenty-three_, his mind told him cruelly, rubbing salt into the open wound. Even the babies in the Academy knew how many civilians the ninja had failed to protect. _Two hundred and twelve_, the hissing mind-voice jibbed him. _And one Hokage_. And that wasn't even including the injured.

Tonbo nodded again silently, his fingernails digging tiny bloody crescents into the palms of his hands. He had been ANBU that day, called in to help bolster the ranks for the close of the chuunin exam, and had nearly killed himself with chakra depletion. The attack was a touchy subject for any ANBU, past or present. Yes, they had succeeded in protecting their village and repulsing the attack, but ultimately they had _failed_. Their villagers had been threatened, and two hundred and twelve souls hadn't been protected by those who had _sworn_ to. Two hundred and twelve, plus the twenty –three teammates that had fallen, that they had been unable to back-up and protect… and the Sandaime Hokage…

Sometimes, especially of late, he thanked Kami for every moment that he wore his bandages. They hid the pain of failure. And he wasn't alone in that sentiment, he knew. Some of the other ANBU supposedly hadn't taken their masks off in the two weeks since the attack.

Ibiki strategically noted his falter and chose not to comment, instead continuing. "The Council has decided that, since the scroll has no obvious value besides the intrinsic sentimentality attached to it for the daimyo, we might as well return in, especially since they've graciously agreed to pay Konoha well for it's safe return."

Ibiki and Tonbo knew, better than most, what was implied by those words. The attack had hurt her ninja corps badly, and, as a village, they could not afford to a)make Kuso any more hostile towards Konoha than she already was, b)throw away money that Konoha desperately needed to rebuild, and c)appear weak to the other ninja nations.

Tonbo was rather puzzled though. "So where do I come in?" He nudge Ibiki aside and peered for himself into the cell.

It wasn't exactly _dank_, but it certainly was no daimyo's summer retreat, either. _Spartan_ was an excellent adjective for it.

A stool. A cot. A combination sink and toilet. A tiny writing desk with a shelf above it, housing a few books. And, of course, the prisoner himself. Apparently still asleep, the young man's arm was draped over his eyes, revealing the chakra-draining cuff on his wrist. His black hair was unruly at best and hid most of the prisoner's other features.

All this he read through the swirls of chakra, the cuff around the prisoner's wrist glowing like a supernova in his mind's eye. He looked back to Ibiki.

The tokubetsu jounin bit back a sound of exasperation. He had no idea how Tonbo could convey the expectancy of a puppy as well as he did, but _damn_ was he good at it.

"We need someone to deliver the scroll, and since the mission duty-roster is so shorthanded, I nominated you."

"Why?"

Ibiki now smirked, his scars again crinkling. He looked like an evil gargoyle. "Because you need to get out more often."

"Be serious, Morino." There was no threat in the words, and both knew it.

"I am." The older man stepped away, and waited until Tonbo had matched his pace to continue. "We're too shorthanded. Just about everyone not essential to Operations has been pulled for sentry patrols. They even have the pregenin doing some of them now, calling them field excercises. All the physically able jounin and chuunin are pulling missions, or pulling double and triple shifts." He held a hand up to forestall any protests. "Yes, I know we are too. I know very well you've been pulling ANBU duty more nights than not. If you slept fifteen hours total last week, that was a lot."

Tonbo chose not to wonder about how Ibiki knew that. It must have been a secret Ibiki-no-jutsu or something.

Ibiki continued. "What I'm trying to say, and my apologies for being so roundabout, is that the Council wants an ANBU to do the handoff, and I want someone I can trust to keep their eyes open. You make everyone happy."

The younger man did have to concede to Ibiki's logic, however ruthless it might be. It was a valid point he had, a very valid point.

The wheels were already turning in Tonbo's head regardless, slowly building momentum. His kit bag was already packed. His armor was newly replaced; his old set had been nothing but destroyed after the attempted invasion. His katana was on his weapons rack by the door, newly sharpened. "When would I be leaving?" He pushed the door at the end of the hall open after tapping it gently with his chakra, then held it open for Ibiki.

Ibiki stepped through it with feline grace, belying his stature. "As soon as you're ready. Stop by the Mission Desk to pick up the actual scroll, as well as the actual mission scroll. The rendezvous point where you'll meet with the daimyo's representative is about three hours to the east, ANBU-paced. Best case, you're back in the village tonight."

Worse case went unmentioned. Shinobi did not dwell on what _might_ happen on their missions. It was bad luck, and shinobi, especially ANBU, tended to be a very superstitious group.

They lift the stairwell at ground level, Tonbo unconsciously turning his face to the sun, reveling in its warmth. He could _feel_ the brightness.

Ibiki extended his right hand, and the chuunin accepted it wordlessly, as was their custom before either rman left for a mission. Their simple, silent handshake said everything their words could not, but that their thoughts shouted at one another.

_You'd better come back. I'm due a week of vacation, and I can't leave Izumo in charge again. That putz almost blew the building up._

_Water my plants or feel my wrath, Morino._

_Screw this one up and I'll make you pay Tobitake. You know the Council doesn't particularly like people outside the norm. I went to bat for you on this one._

_You let my cat scratch my sofa to shreds again, I'm stealing yours._

All this and more translated for both into the simple unspoken words: _Don't die._

Stepping apart, Tonbo quickly put his hands together into a teleportation jutsu and was gone. Ibiki shielded his eyes from the blue-gray chakra smoke and just stood for a moment, letting the sun warm his own weary countenance.


End file.
